Embrasse moi
by ravenhaired
Summary: It is after Berlin that Colette needs her. Pan Am, Femmeslash/Femslash, Kate/Colette.


**Embrasse-moi**

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Pan Am.

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><p>It is after Berlin that Colette needs her.<p>

Kate hails a cab silently, Colette beside her, eyes red-rimmed and her throat raw.

After Kate gives the cab driver an address, Colette raises one eyebrow questioningly.

"Laura," Kate explains. "She's moved in with me,"

Colette nods, and sits very still in the back of the cab. So still, Kate thinks, she may well be frozen in place, or, indeed, time. Her grief is being carefully boxed away, as she slowly dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. Her composure is returning, and the only way Kate knows she is still very much in anguish is how she uncharacteristically reaches out for Kate's gloved hand half-way through the cab ride and squeezes hard.

Kate squeezes back, and only stops to pay the fare.

Colette is unlocking the door, and motioning her inside. Kate has never been inside Colette's home – the girls are friendly enough to each other when flying and abroad, but there is an unspoken understanding that they do not interfere in each other's life back in New York – and Kate is suddenly nervous. The only reason she knows where Colette lives in the first place is because she peeked at the luggage label on her bag.

Colette sets her bag down heavily at the door, and kicks off her heels. She stretched, tugging at her leg with her hand and sits down on the sofa, flopping back as though drained.

Kate looks around. It's small, one-roomed and basic. Kate wonders if that sofa expands into a bed, as she can see no other place to sleep.

"Thank you for taking me home," Colette says suddenly, breaking the silence.

"It was my pleasure," Kate replies, still standing where Colette left her, on the threshold.

Colette smiles at her, almost in that smoky way Kate is used to. "Please," She says, though her voice is guttural. "Come in."

Kate comes, running her fingers along the island counter, dropping her bag alongside Colette's.

Colette watches her in a slightly helpless fashion. She needs me, Kate thinks, not for the first time.

But Kate never makes the first move. It is an ingrained rule. She stands and looks at Colette, silently asking Colette to gather the strength from somewhere. Kate doesn't think she can. She can do many things, and has, but not this.

Colette's lips tremble. "_Embrasse-mo_i," She whispers hoarsely. "_Embrasse-moi, embrasse-moi, embrasse-moi_!" Her voice rises shrilly.

So Kate does. It is not like the other times – for one thing it is broad daylight in Colette's apartment. For another, Colette allows herself to be kissed, not to do the kissing. Kate kisses her lips, her cheeks, her forehead, her ears, her neck, whilst Colette turns her face upwards, as though accepting a benediction.

Colette is still. She hasn't responded to the plethora of kisses Kate has given her. Kate hesitates, her lips an inch from Colette's.

Colette's eyes open. "_Embrasse-mo_i," She repeats.

They fall together on the sofa, hands scrabbling at each other in their haste to undress. Kate's knee becomes lodged between Colette's thighs and Colette moans into Kate's mouth, clutching her shoulders and pulling her closer.

Kate unbuttons Colette's blouse, and Colette snaps Kate's girdle. They are being too rough, Kate thinks in an oddly detached way, if there are any visible marks, there'll be hell to pay at work.

Colette doesn't seem to care, sucking as she is on Kate's ear lobe, and then her neck. Kate moans, groans, her hands part Colette's thighs and Colette bites down hard.

Kate lets out a squeak of surprise, even as she inserts two digits inside Colette.

Colette rocks rhythmically against her hand. Her skirt has rode up to her thighs, and Kate momentarily thinks all sorts of nonsense about love before she dismisses it as tripe brought on by Colette's uncharacteristic vulnerability.

When Colette comes, Kate has her tongue against her clit.

Colette is momentarily exhausted, smiling lazily at Kate, reaching up to cup her face in her hand, and run a thumb over her cheek. "_Je t'aime_," Kate knows she doesn't mean it, or at least doesn't mean it in the way Kate might like her to mean it.

"_Je t'aime,_" Kate replies in her terrible accent, kissing Colette's palm.

Later, when Kate arches against Colette's dexterous fingers, she knows she will have to leave soon. It is late in the afternoon, and Laura – poor, silly Laura – would be wondering where the hell she was.

Colette is silent in her embrace and Kate twirls one strand of hair between her fingertips. They are sated, content, and for a moment Kate is happy.

"Did you sleep with Anke?" Colette asks suddenly.

"What? Who?"

"Anke – your friend, the German,"

"Oh," Mention of the East Berlin refugee has brought something unpleasant into the atmosphere. "No. No, of course not,"

Kate leaves soon after, kissing Colette on the side of the mouth, saying she'll see her for the flight to Rangoon the day after tomorrow. Colette nods and smiles, and makes no attempt to deepen the kiss.

She watches Kate descend the stairs, and Kate spends most of the cab ride home trying to conceal the tiny love bit Colette has left on her neck.

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><p><strong>The End<strong>


End file.
